Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Tribute to Edward Hopper


Hawk Eyes


Three remain, I serve with no name,
the only diner still open.
A lonely man silently weeps,
a couple dreams of love, hoping.

All of their coffee is ice cold,
apologizing for hours.
A hand she does not want to hold,
she will not accept his flowers.

I listen to the friends argue,
the bright lights flicker when they swear.
Their anger towards each other grows,
sense the end of their bond is near.

My back aches from standing all day,
the dishwater has aged my hands.
“It is time to be on your way”
finally, everybody stands.

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